The Wandering Orc
by Jake Flood
Summary: Vash gro-Nul, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold and Chosen of Malacath, attempts to balance all his responsibilities with his own desire to wander the forgotten paths of Skyrim. A sprawling sort of story with no real overreaching narrative. Rated M for violence and language. ABANDONED.


_~A/N: Once again, this is set in the same continuity as my other Skyrim stories, most notably after the events of 'Adventures with the Dragonborn'. I've tried to make it so you don't have to read that story if you don't want to, but if you're interested in the events Vash refers to, then by all means do so. This story will, at times, jump over time periods as large as years, so it may feel like there's a lack of an overreaching narrative. That feeling would be correct, this is more of a chronicle of a time in this character's life than anything else. Anyway, thanks for reading.~_

* * *

Vash gro-Nul felt his patience weakening the longer he spent in First Edition. Normally he would have relished spending time in such a well-stocked bookstore, but the proprietor was testing the orc mage to his limits. Ishim, a Redguard who had inherited the shop from his father and his fathers before him, was an eternally enthusiastic man. Vash cut the man's latest spiel short as politely as he could.

"My apologies, Ishim, but I really must be heading back now," Vash said.

"Of course, of course!" exclaimed Ishim. "A big success, Arch-Mage! I predict a big success! You have penned a most excellent book!"

Vash thanked him, unable to escape the Redguard's pumping handshake, and exited into the Market District of the Imperial City. He had felt uncomfortable as soon as he'd entered the city walls. This was not his home. He belonged back in his beloved Winterhold, among the deep snows of the College. But the other mages had insisted he get his book published and for that, there was no place other than the Imperial City.

_Through the Gate _was the title he'd given it. A collaborative work, really. The incomplete tale of how Vash and six comrades had leapt through a gate to Oblivion and all landed in different places. Only five of the seven had contributed, and two of those were highly circumspect. Antario's account of the tournament in Boethiah's realm. Falin's account of her conversation with Meridia. Kureeth's tale of the chase through the Hunting Grounds, with a section missing at the end which the Argonian had refused to elaborate on. Dar'epha's short trip through the Evergloam, essentially nothing more than descriptions, the Khajiiti thief saying nothing about what had actually occurred. And finally, Vash's account of his trips through Apocrypha and the Ashpit. Although he'd left out the part about becoming Malacath's Chosen.

Kara's account he'd been unable to get, due to her vanishing after the battle. Nobody had seen her since. Gondain had refused to contribute, leaving Skyrim soon after.

Vash chastised himself as he remembered his duties to his own kind. He'd been neglecting Skyrim's orcs, caught up in his own business, writing and dealing with the regrowth of Winterhold. He'd toured the strongholds soon after his return from Oblivion, introduced himself to everyone, but had not been back in months.

Vash turned right after exiting First Edition, then left at the intersection. He had no wish to stay in the Imperial City any longer than necessary. His eyes fell on a small stall run by a tired-looking Bosmer, boasting an array of elven weaponry. Vash had never felt the need for a weapon. Why would he, when he had such a vast pool of magicka to draw from? Although…

He slipped his hand under the hood of his robes and scratched his scalp, as he often did when he was considering something. His hair was cropped as close as he could get it, but his beard grew out unimpeded. It had gone grey in the Ashpit, no amount of washing or magic able to return it to its original black colour. Vash had resigned himself to looking significantly older than his thirty-four years.

What if his magic had failed him in the Ashpit? He would have fallen, choking, for all eternity, he realised. What if his magic failed him in a fight? He would be almost defenceless. Vash quickly paid for an elven dagger, tucking it into his belt and moving on. He resolved to get Kureeth to teach him some of the unarmed fighting moves the Argonian favoured so much. But he had to get home first.

He barely looked at the Elven Gardens and Talos Plaza Districts, so absorbed was he in leaving. He was almost out the gate when he was ambushed by a courier.

"Letter for you from the College of Winterhold," said the courier, a Nord man who showed no signs of tiring despite the long distance he must have travelled for the delivery.

"Thank you," replied Vash, taking the sealed letter and opening it. The letter was from Tolfdir, the College's Master Wizard, detailing a woman named Emelia Catraso who wished to enrol in the College. Vash smiled. It had been almost a year since Falin had joined after their adventure at Helgen with the Oblivion Gate. It would be nice to have a new student. Tolfdir's letter informed Vash that Emelia was currently residing in Falkreath and would the Arch-Mage be able to meet her there and see if she was a suitable candidate.

"There'll be no reply," Vash assured the waiting courier, dropping a few coins into the man's palm. "Thanks you again."

"Blessings of the Divines be upon you," said the courier by way of farewell. Vash doubted they would, given his previous interactions with the Daedric Princes.

* * *

Vash was in luck. A carriage heading to Bruma was just about to leave. The driver informed him he'd have to change at that town, as his route didn't take him into Skyrim. Vash handed over the money and climbed into the back. The only other travellers were a pair of Imperials, clearly related in some fashion. They didn't speak to Vash, and that suited him just fine. He settled in and fell into a doze.

* * *

Vash was awoken some time later by someone else getting into the carriage.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, pulling his hood back.

"Aleswell," said the new traveller. Vash saw him to be a male Dunmer, small but well-built, wearing the common clothes of a farmer. "Viyam Serethi," was what the Dunmer introduced himself as, extending his hand. Vash shook it, seeing that the two Imperials had disappeared.

"Vash gro-Nul," responded he. "Where are you headed?"

Viyam's face broke into a smile. "Bruma," he replied. "To join the Fighters Guild!" His accent was broad Cyrodilic, not a hint of his Dunmeri origins.

Vash smiled back. The Dunmer's enthusiasm didn't grate on him like Ishim's had. "It's a hard life," he cautioned Viyam.

"I don't care," replied Viyam. "I can handle it. Anythin's better than spendin' another minute in Aleswell." He cast a last look back at the small settlement, vanishing between the trees as the carriage rounded a bend. "Besides, Bruma's the smallest chapter of the Guild. They're always lookin' for new recruits." The Dunmer let loose a series of mock jabs and punches.

Vash was reminded that he too was looking for recruits. A shame his travelling companion wasn't a mage; the College was always interested in new minds.

"You look like a mage," said Viyam. "If you don't mind me sayin' so."

"I don't mind," said Vash. "And I am. From the College of Winterhold."

Viyam whistled. "You've come a long way. Headin' for home, eh?" Vash nodded. "Now that there's a real College," Viyam went on. "None o' that infightin' nonsense like goes on down here."

Vash nodded again. He'd deliberately avoid both the Synod and the College of Whispers while in the Imperial City. Their predilection for politics over actual magic study was not something he would ever sympathise with. Also, there was always the possibility that the Synod were still a little bitter about the business with the Eye of Magnus. The Psijic Order, on the other hand, were a group Vash would've been more than happy to interface with, but there was no such luck on that front. The Order had not been seen in Skyrim since vanishing with the Eye.

Vash settled in again, listening to Viyam's rolling speech as the carriage trundled north.

* * *

Evening was upon them as they approached Bruma, the snows making Vash feel almost at home. He bid Viyam the best of luck as they disembarked, the Dunmer trotting off eagerly through the gate of the town to join the Guild. Vash stared up at the stone walls of the town from his position by the stables. The driver who'd taken him from the Imperial City ensured him the carriage to take him over into Skyrim would be back in the morning, and recommended Olav's Tap and Tack as the best deal for a meal and a room. Vash thanked him, and entered Bruma.

Olav's was just inside the gates on the left, but Vash did not enter immediately. He'd gone right past Bruma on his way down to the Imperial City, without a chance to explore the place. The Great Chapel dominated Bruma, the spire more than three times as high anything else in the town. He paused outside to admire the statue of the Champion of Cyrodiil that stood in the centre of the town.

The stone figure was clad in resplendent armour, the face covered by a full helmet. Even the figure's race could not be determined. Vash had never been able to find a direct reference to the Champion's race in any accounts of the Oblivion Crisis. It was a feature common to the Nerevarine and several other ancient heroes, that lack of race or other distinguishing features. Somehow they had all become lost to history.

Vash decided against entering the Chapel, given his current position under Malacath. Instead he returned to Olav's, finding himself in need of a good meal.

* * *

In the morning Vash paid the carriage driver extra to leave early. He was eager to meet Emelia and get back to his College. The sun had not even reached its peak when he reached Falkreath. He had felt more at ease as soon as they'd crossed the Jerall Mountains. Skyrim may have had its problems, but it was Vash's home.

He made his way to Dead Man's Drink, the only place Emelia could be staying. Entering the inn, he saw there was only one patron; it had to be her. A small young Imperial woman, shorter than Vash by half a head, dressed in stained travelling clothes and boots that were coming apart at the seams. She had a hood up that she pushed back, revealing her hair, coloured a deep red and was growing out just past her shoulders. She carried no weapon. She rose smoothly as she saw Vash enter, coughing lightly into one hand before offering the other to him.

"Arch-Mage Vash gro-Nul, I presume?" she asked as they shook. "I am Emelia Catraso, I've been expecting you." Her expression didn't shift as she spoke, betraying neither happiness nor sadness. Her face was perfectly blank, her posture perfectly straight. Vash guessed she must have come from a noble family in Cyrodiil. If that was so, her manner contrasted sharply with her disordered appearance.

"Just Vash, please," he said. "I understand you wish to join our College." He sunk his arms into opposing sleeves like Savos used to do. It made him feel more authoritative. He was glad of his ash-stained beard giving him an extra air of wisdom, positioning himself as the elder figure in the exchange.

"Very much so," replied Emelia. "I can demonstrate my skills if required?" Vash nodded his assent. Emelia quickly worked a spell in each hand. The first summoned a spectral wolf familiar by her side.

Vash bent at the waist slightly, examining it. "Good form," he said. "Excellent job on the tail, it's an often neglected area." He returned his gaze to Emelia, who triggered her second spell and vanished. Vash paced around the gap in the air occupied by the Imperial. "You need to work on your light refraction, someone would be able to see you if you stood between them and the sun. But your casting was commendably silent, which is often a tricky thing to master."

Emelia reappeared, her face still unmoving.

Vash extended his hand. They shook again. "Welcome to the College of Winterhold," he said. At that moment, he could have sworn he saw a faint echo of relief pass over her features, her shoulders slumping slightly as if some burden had just been removed from them.

* * *

Their carriage lost a wheel outside the Nightgate Inn. The sun was on the verge of vanishing, and Vash left the choice up to Emelia: stay the night at the inn or continue on foot to Winterhold. She chose the latter.

Something in her manner reminded Vash of his old Altmer friend Antario. There was an attitude there, like none of this was new to her. In Antario, Vash had always put that down to his age (over a hundred, the Altmer had once informed him), but that couldn't account for Emelia's manner; she couldn't be much more than twenty. The cold didn't seem to be affecting her overly either, despite the ragged condition of her clothes. He had offered to buy her a cloak before they left Falkreath, but she had declined.

"Is it true the Dragonborn was a member of the College?" asked Emelia as they turned up the road towards Winterhold, breaking the silence. Vash had added some flames to a candlelight spell so that it gave off heat as well as light, the floating ball of fire guiding their way along the snowy path.

"He was always more of a fighter than a mage," replied Vash. "But yes, technically, he was a student. About a year before I joined. I didn't meet him until," – Vash stretched his mind back, trying to get a handle on the span of the years – "the year two hundred and four. By then I was already Arch-Mage."

Something in Emelia's face moved a little. "You knew the Dragonborn?" she asked. "What was he like?"

Vash smiled an orcish smile. He wondered where to begin. Condensing the tale, he told her of their adventure to destroy the Dark Brotherhood, of Gondain's intense protection of those he cared for. Of his and Dar'epha's trip around Tamriel, of his world-weariness when he returned. Of the fight against the Thalmor with their new allies, of the battle at Helgen and the trip into Oblivion. It wasn't a tale Vash would normally have told, but his book was being published anyway, it seemed pointless to him to hide from it.

Emelia listened, never interrupting Vash's tangents or ruminations on events he was not privy to. Finally, when he was finished, she coughed and was about to say something when a low roar came from ahead of them.

A frost troll reared up in the snow, the fur around its mouth red with blood. Around it in the snow lay the corpses of three wolves, who'd clearly taken on the wrong prey. Vash began to prepare a fireball with both hands, but Emelia was quicker. She reanimated first one wolf, then another, the two undead creatures tearing into the troll that had killed them.

The first drew the troll's attention while the second looped around behind the monster and tore into the back of its left leg. The troll roared and crumpled to its knees. Vash launched his fireball, the inferno consuming wolves and troll, burning fur and flesh. Three smoking bodies dropped in the snow.

"Impressive spread," commented Emelia, an echo of a smile creeping onto her face.

Vash turned to her. "You didn't mention you knew reanimation spells," he said.

"I didn't mention a lot of things," she replied. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No," said Vash. "The College has a looser attitude to necromancy than Cyrodiil does. Just don't practice on humans, or let anyone outside the College see you do it. The Nords are touchy about their dead."

"Dead's dead," shrugged Emelia. "The soul moves on, the body is just a shell."

"That may be," cautioned Vash, "but I've done a lot of work to improve the reputation of the College. I won't have it torn away by carelessness on anyone's part."

Emelia tipped her head respectfully. "I will be careful," she promised. "Besides," she added, "I am more interested in working on other areas." Vash gestured down the road, and they continued on.

"Then you've come to the right place," he said. They walked in silence as they passed Fort Kastav, a single Legionnaire on watch. Vash gave him a wave, which was returned. When the Fort was behind them, Vash remembered something.

"What were you going to say before?" he asked. "When I was talking about the Dragonborn?"

Emelia did another little cough before speaking. "You mentioned him – Gondain, I should say – being world-weary, tired of fixing other people's problems," she said.

Vash nodded. "I believe it was the reason he left," he said.

"I have… conducted some research into these heroic figures," Emelia went on. "That weariness comes to all of them sooner or later. Eventually, they leave. The Champion of Cyrodiil into Oblivion, the Nerevarine to Akavir. And your friend the Dragonborn to wherever he has gone."

"The Champion of Cyrodiil went to Oblivion?" asked Vash. "I've never heard that before."

"I was lucky enough to… find some journals from the time," said Emelia. "A door to the Shivering Isles opened up in Cyrodiil, shortly after the Oblivion Crisis. The Champion went through, the door closed, nobody ever saw them again."

Vash wondered if he would ever see his friend again. He'd respected Gondain's decision at the time, had let him disappear. But that didn't mean he didn't miss him.

* * *

Masser and Secunda were well on the rise by the time they reached Winterhold. Vash greeted the single guard on duty and led Emelia through the town and across the bridge. He'd made numerous improvements to it, but it was still a dangerous route.

Vash took Emelia across the courtyard and into the Hall of Elements. The wide cavernous space was still being used; in the centre were two women, a tired-looking Breton and a small energetic Bosmer. Upon the newcomer's entrance, they dismissed the light spells they were practising and turned respectfully to the Arch-Mage, who did the introductions. Vash thought he caught Emelia looking uncomfortably at the light spells before they were dispelled.

"Colette, Falin, this is Emelia, our newest student," he said. "Emelia, this is Colette, our resident master of Restoration." The Breton woman did a short bow. "And this is Falin, the newest student before you." There was a smattering of smiles and hellos.

"Are there any areas of particular interest to you?" asked Colette.

"Illusion, primarily," replied Emelia. "I'm also interested in the possibilities of ice magic."

"Well," said Vash, "You'll want to talk to Drevis, he's the best illusionist in Skyrim. Although Falin's doing quite well in that area herself."

Falin shook her head. "I'll never be at Drevis' level. I'm focussing on wards now anyway. Colette and I are experimenting with channelling healing and light spells through them." She smiled as she said it, clearly excited about her progress. Falin had only been a student at the College for a year, joining straight after the Oblivion Gate had been closed in Helgen, but she was advancing in leaps and bounds. Vash could see that the little Bosmer was pushing Colette to her limits.

One of Vash's favourite things about his College was how it encouraged experimentation. Almost every mage in residence there had their own area of magical interest, making new advances in spell construction and manipulation. He was always very excited to see their results, and consistently made a point of going around and seeing everyone regularly, to engage with them and show interest.

"It's late," he said to all of them. "Enough practice for today. Tolfdir'll have set up a room for you in the Hall of Attainment, we'll sort out lessons in the morning," he said to Emelia. "And I'll show you around." She nodded and made a smiling motion.

Just then, there was an explosion from the far back of the Hall, fiery tendrils looping and snaking into the air in all directions before dissipating into the air. All four of the mages summoned wards. Once again, Vash was impressed with Emelia's reaction times.

From behind a pillar at the centre of the explosion emerged a Khajiit in singed robes, a wide grin splitting his face. Vash rolled his eyes and dispelled his ward.

"J'zargo, this is Emelia. Emelia, this is J'zargo," he said.

"This one is most pleased by your admission to this College," said J'zargo, doing a short bow, "and is sure that we shall get along splendidly." The others dispelled their wards, seeing the danger had passed.

"What in the world were you doing over there?" asked Emelia, clearly impressed. Vash marvelled at J'zargo's ability to elicit emotions from everyone regardless of their previous disposition.

"Ah, a mere trifle; a small test of some runes this one has been working on," replied J'zargo. "Do you perhaps have an interest in the runic, dear lady?"

Emelia raised an eyebrow at that title, but did not correct him. "You could say that," she replied.

"Excellent," said J'zargo smoothly. "This one would be honoured if we could compare notes sometime."

A smile crept over Emelia's face. "I'd like that," she said.

J'zargo bowed again. "This one shall eagerly await such a day," he said, sweeping out of the Hall.

As soon as he was gone, Emelia burst out laughing. "Is he always like that?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so, yes," chuckled Vash.


End file.
